Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven 1)

It was hard not to feel sorry for whoever had picked up the phone at What Can Brown Do for You?

That was the old slogan, though, wasn’t it, Lydia thought as she flipped the switch in the doorway of her office.

As the lights flickered on, she frowned.

Something was …

Crossing the rough rug, she went to her desk and looked at the landline phone, her computer, her lamp. Her mug full of pens and pencils. Her pad of paper and the two files Candy had left in her inbox.

With a shaky hand, Lydia pushed the lamp out of its strict alignment with the edge of the desk. Then she put it back in place.

“You’re nuts,” she said as she fell into her office chair.

“I don’t see why you gotta get personal.” Candy was talking as she swung around the doorjamb. “Was that Eastwind who brought you in?”

“Yes, I had to get something out in the preserve.” She rubbed her tired eyes. “He’s going to tow the ATV back. It ran out of gas—”

As Candy made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat, Lydia looked up—and lost her train of thought. The sixty-year-old woman was, in her own words, “round as a billiard ball, but not as smooth,” and her stocky body was currently squeezed into a pair of khaki slacks and a white turtleneck. Her hand-knit vest had a three-dimensional quality to it, knotty flowers and twisting vines circling her torso, the granny-chic not matching her level stare or Brooklyn accent or her high and tight in the slightest.

“I …” Lydia still wasn’t sure what she was looking at. “Is your hair pink?”

“Yeah.” Candy made a duh gesture with her hands. “Where’s your coffee? You get your coffee yet?”

“Um, it looks good. The color suits you.”

Which was a surprising truth. It also matched some of the knit roses.

“Doris did it. And I’m getting you coffee.”

“You don’t have to.” Lydia leaned to the side and opened the lowest drawer. “I am not tired in the slightest, trust me.”

“You’re going to need it, trust me.”

As Candy walked off, Lydia paused. Then shook her head and outed the Lysol wipes. Popping the lid, she snapped two free and rubbed down the laminated top of the desk, skirting the pads, the pens, the phone, the monitor, the inbox. An itch to clear everything off and do a series of long pulls made her check the doorway and do a quick mental calculation on how long Candy was going to take to come back with the coffee that hadn’t been asked for.

When you were acting nutty about cleanliness, an audience was the last thing anybody wanted.

“Okay, you ready?” Candy demanded as she came in and banged a mug down on the drying, hospital-worthy antiseptic.

“No offense, but what—” Actually, the coffee smelled great, and as she palmed it up and took a test sip, she decided Candy was right. She did need this. “What’s going on?”

“Well, first of all, you and I are using the boys’ bathroom again.”

Lydia let her head fall back. “Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking anything all day long.”

“But that’s not the big news. I’m sending the big news down to you. It’s all gonna make sense when you see it.”

“It?” Lydia shot the woman a hard stare. “Please do not tell me you overpowered that UPS driver and duct-taped him to that hand truck you like so much. You cannot hold a human being hostage in exchange for a package. Even if it’s a week late.”

“Hey, thanks for the good idea. You’re an inspired leader. But no, that’s not it.”

As Candy headed back to the waiting area, Lydia called out, “Just to be clear, I am not ever signing off on hostage taking. You keep a person locked in a closet, it’s a felony—”

Cologne.

She smelled … cologne. A woodsy, very … delicious … cologne.

And that was when she heard the footfalls. Heavy. Really heavy. A man’s.

Candy reappeared in the doorway, a sly smile on her face. “The applicant is here.”

“Applicant?”

“You know, for Trick’s replacement?”

“Oh, no, Peter’s supposed to interview—”

“I explained that as our executive director’s in a meeting, you’re going to conduct the preliminaries.” Candy eased back. “Lydia Susi, meet—what did you say your name was?”

“Daniel Joseph.”

The man who stepped into the open jambs was so tall and so broad, he was like a living, breathing door: He blocked out all light and made it impossible for anyone to come or go.

As Lydia’s eyes traveled up, up, up, she saw jeans that did little to hide muscled thighs, and a worn flannel shirt that had been freshly pressed, and a set of shoulders …

That made someone think things that should never be part of any job interview.

“Should I come in?” he said in that deep, smooth voice.

The chuckle Candy let out drifted off as the woman left.